


Patches for the Holes

by Jae



Category: Bandom, Empires, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae/pseuds/Jae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know that the first circus was in ancient Rome, and featured chariot racing, animals, and barely repressed homosexuality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patches for the Holes

"Chicago's a driving city – I mean, not the way LA is, not that I drive that much there, I hate to drive in LA, because it's a city full of drivers but it's not a driving city, you know? It's all full of tricky turns and complicated highways and too many cars on not enough asphalt, and it's full of people who are, like, professional drivers, or, you know, people who like to think of themselves as professional drivers, or, you know, just better drivers than you. Or me. It's all full of people who like to think about what kind of driver they are, and what kind of city they live in, who like to think about that kind of thing. It's not a driving city the way Chicago is, because Chicago – Chicago's easy, you know? Chicago's not a driving city because we're all, like, determined to manufacture the image of it as a driving city, it's a driving city because it's really fucking easy to drive in, you know? It's a driving city because we all just want to get to where we're going and driving's the simplest way. Sometimes – I don't know, sometimes you just want to stop thinking about every fucking thing you do and just do it, you know, sometimes you just want to be in a city full of people who just do shit, you know? Chicago's like the city of people who do shit, Hog Butcher of the world and everything – and I mean, I've never butchered a hog, like, personally, but I bet you don't do a lot of thinking about it while you're butchering. And I know what you're thinking – "

"Oh, I bet you don't," Tom said. He slumped down further in his seat and put his feet up on the dash.

"Don't smoke in here," Jon said, even though he knew it was a losing battle. Tom didn't even pretend to hesitate before he lit up. "I do, I know what you're thinking, that I just spent like five minutes talking about what kind of city Chicago is, which is not exactly the type of thing that people who do shit and don't think about it all the time do, but, you know, there are kind of extenuating circumstances here. I think I'm allowed." Tom didn't say anything. "Don't you think I'm allowed?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Tom said. "And besides, that wasn't what I was thinking."

"What were you thinking, then?"

Tom looked out the window for a minute, then said, "I was thinking that I'd give you eight dollars and seventy-three cents to take a fucking breath and stop talking for ten seconds."

"Nice," Jon said, making a left against the light – no one was out this late anyway. "What were you really thinking, though?"

"Told you," Tom said, but he was studying his cigarette intently, like there might be a secret message contained inside, the way he always did when he wanted to avoid something.

"You didn't – that wasn't what you were going to say, you were going to say something and then you stopped and offered me a bribe of – what was it, eight seventy-three? That's a very precise bribe, too."

"It's how much change you have in your cup holder here," Tom said. "I was counting it while you were talking about manufacturing the image of driving in LA."

"Nice," Jon said again. He slowed the car down for a second and took Tom's cigarette out of his hand. Tom grabbed for it back but his seat belt kept him from getting at it before Jon lifted it to his mouth. "Seriously. Tell me what you were thinking."

Tom looked at him for a minute, then shrugged. "Just – I didn't realize you were in the market for less thought and more action and adventure and driving and hog butchering and, I don't know. I guess I just didn't think you'd absconded with the non-overthinking part of your – of the band."

"I didn't abscond with anyone," Jon said. Tom lifted up his hands in the age-old gesture for "fine, whatever," and sat back in his seat. "Anyway, Ry's not – he gets a bad rap, he's not that bad, he just, you know, it's not the worst thing in the world. He just likes to think about things, sometimes."

"And talk about them," Tom said. "Did I ever tell you, when I went on tour with you guys, I asked him once about why they named it that?"

Jon laughed, he couldn't help it. "You didn't – how high were you?"

"I was depressed, I think it was a suicidal urge. You know like how they call it on crime shows, suicide by cop? I think I was trying for suicide by getting talked to death."

Jon laughed again. "Come on, even back then he wasn't that bad. I mean, you're still here."

"True," Tom said. "And I learned a lot – did you know that the first circus was in ancient Rome, and featured chariot racing, animals, and barely repressed homosexuality?"

"He didn't say that."

"Well, not the part about the barely repressed homosexuality – that part I figured out myself using context clues."

"He's not so bad," Jon said. "And, you know, he's better these days – "

"I like Ryan," Tom said mildly. "You don't have to convince me."

"And I didn't abscond with him – I didn't abscond with anybody, first, and second I didn't fucking abscond, it's not like I snuck out in the middle of the night with their TVs. I left – we left – we broke up, all of us, we had, like, a discussion and everything, it wasn't a fucking surprise. I mean, by the end it wasn't – "

"I know," Tom said. "Give me back that cigarette."

When Jon did Tom said, "Seriously, dude, you don't have to convince me. And, I mean, come on, think about who you're talking to. As long as you didn't end up drunk and alone at a truck stop at three a.m. with a sprained hand, wondering exactly how much you'd have to put out for some truck driver in exchange for a ride back to the city, you managed a better fucking breakup than I did, so, you know. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Jon said. Then he said, "You don't sound mad."

"Maybe cause I'm not mad."

"No, I mean – you didn't sound mad, when you talked about, I just thought – you know, I thought you might want to know that. It's good, you know, that you can joke about it and not sound all mad when you – it's good to talk about it."

"Yeah, it's awesome," Tom said.

"And on the upside, it's not like your breakup was completely without victory on your side. I mean, you did make Beckett cry."

"Yeah, that's setting the bar high," Tom said. Jon laughed. "Okay, seriously, you've driven around this block like three times, what do you want to do here?"

"You know what I really want to do?"

"Yes, of course, that's why I asked, because I love to be told things I already know." Tom punched his arm. "No, tell me, dumbass."

"Remember how we used to drive around after practice – like, back before, you had that fucked up old car where the heat didn't work, and you used to drive us around in the dark and we'd smoke up and listen to music until we were about to freeze to death? I want to do that, do you want to?"

"No," Tom said. Jon turned and looked at him in surprise. "At least not the smoking up in the car part, because a, I have to work tomorrow, and b, we're not fucking kids anymore, at our age if we get pulled over they're not going to call our parents, we're going to big boy jail."

"What are you, chicken?" Jon said. "Come on, haven't you ever wondered exactly how many cartons of cigarettes your ass is worth?"

"It's like I told those truckers – my ass is worth a lot of fucking cigarettes."

"It's nice to have self-esteem like that."

"That is what I'm known for," Tom said. "So anyway, I will accept driving around and listening to music all night, or else driving back to your place and smoking up in the luxury and comfort of the house that Ryan Ross's barely repressed homosexuality built, it's your call."

"He's not that bad," Jon said. "I mean, he isn't bad at all, he's – "

"I like him," Tom said. "I already told you, I like him. I like him. I've said it so much I'm starting to think I'm barely repressing my homosexuality."

"Well, don't let me hold you back," Jon said. "I'm sure you could make Ryan a very happy man."

Tom said, "Twenty-three truckers can't be wrong." When Jon laughed he said, "Anyway, let's just drive around for a while, you can turn up the music and turn off the heat and it'll be just like we're kids again."

"I'll turn up the music," Jon said, and he did. They drove around like that for a while, like they used to, except this time Jon was driving. His car was much nicer than Tom's had been, and he was a much better driver, but other than that it was the same as it had been, the dark and the empty streets and Tom mumbling along with the radio. Jon couldn't remember how many nights he'd spent like this, the rhythm of Tom's fingers against the window beating a counterpoint to Jon's thoughts, the shared quiet between them so seamless Jon never realized he was talking until the words spilled out.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said.

Tom's fingers slowed and stopped and then picked up the rhythm of the song on the radio again, strong and steady.

"Okay," Tom said.

"No, I mean – I thought I did, there was a plan, we had a plan, it just – "

"Okay," Tom said.

"No, it's not, it's really not. I'm not – I told you, I don't – I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know," Tom said. "But I do."

When Jon had first met Tom he thought Tom seemed so much older, older and cooler and impossibly knowing, like a guy in a band, like the kind of guy in a band Jon wanted to be. Since then he'd gotten to know Tom, though, and no one seemed that cool once you knew them well, and Tom wasn't really so much older, and most of the things he knew he'd already told Jon, driving around in the dark in cars and vans and buses. Most of the things Jon really knew, Tom had told him.

"Tell me," he said, and Tom looked out the window for a minute, then looked back.

"You're doing the same thing I did," he said. Then he burst into laughter. "Seriously, dude, at least try not to look so fucking appalled at the idea. Jesus, Walker, you have no poker face."

"I'm not – " Jon said. "I didn't – I'm not appalled – "

"Seriously," Tom said again, "you should see your face." He stopped smiling then. "No," he said, "I know, I mean, I know, I know it's not the same as it was for me, it's not the same at all, except, except in the one way it is, the only way that's important." Tom was quiet again then, for long enough that Jon thought maybe he wasn't going to say anything else, maybe he thought he didn't have to say anything, just fade back into their shared silence. Then Tom smiled again, not like he had before, not like he was smiling at a joke, or even at a memory. He smiled the way he smiled when someone gave him a gift, or not even that. He smiled the way he smiled when he got something he'd been waiting for, something he knew was his.

"You came home," Tom said. "When it got bad, you came home, just like I did. It's what you're supposed to do."

Jon smiled then, he couldn't help it, and Tom laid his head back against the window and looked at him for a minute. "I knew you would," he said, at the same time Jon said,

"It's not the same."

"No," Tom said. He was still smiling, though, like this was something he'd been waiting for too, something else that he knew. "It's not the same, nothing ever is. But it's close enough, I think – I think it's close enough."

"Yeah?" Jon said. They were in his nice expensive heated car and he was behind the wheel and Tom was in the passenger seat but Jon was still asking him, Jon still wanted to know whatever Tom wanted to tell him, the same as before, almost.

"Yeah," Tom said.

"Yeah," Jon echoed. He felt his lips lift in the same smile as Tom's, or close enough.

"That was a red light," Tom said, and Jon swore and looked back at the road. Tom laughed. "Turn down the heat, Jonny Walker," he said, and reached down and turned up the radio. When Jon glanced back over Tom was still leaning back, looking at him and smiling.

"Just like old times," Tom said, and lit another cigarette.


End file.
